


Tea for the Sorrowful

by hurstandbarn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Feels, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23752663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurstandbarn/pseuds/hurstandbarn
Summary: The Granger family is rocked to the core when devastation strikes, but the Weasleys step in to help. The only problem is, the past is starting to catch up on this group of very unsuspecting people... AU (Fred lives) and rated T for possible language and grief themes. I own nothing; all characters and locations belong to J.K. Rowling.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	1. A Morning Visit

Hermione lay awake, her head buzzing with an emptiness that seemed to be echoing through her entire being. A tear seeped into the pillow as she stared at the neon numbers jumping out at her from the darkness.

_00:19_

The day before had been similar to her current condition: hollow, dull, tear-streaked. Her mother had drifted through the house in a daze, and Hermione couldn't blame her: she was at a loss to do anything.

It had been almost a week ago that just one phone call had shaken them out of their comfortable world and into oblivion: Thomas Granger had been hit by a car. On hearing her mother shriek from the kitchen, Hermione had run to her side and—on hearing the news—had risked side-along apparition so that they could land in an alley behind the hospital just seconds later. Even though they'd arrived just minutes after the phone call, they'd been too late. A doctor had come from surgery and taken them into a side room, where they'd been delivered the devastating blow.

They had done everything they could.

They had done _everything_ they could.

They had done _everything they could_.

She'd got her mother to the hospital, run to her when she picked up the phone. They couldn't have done anything differently. Still, Hermione felt as though her heart had been ripped out. It wasn't just because she'd lost _her father_. No, it was also because that despite her powers and her years of training, she couldn't save him. She was the one person in that hospital who could have done something for him, but she wasn't there when he needed her: she was too late.

A sharp rap on the front door shocked Hermione from her wreck and ruin, and manoeuvred her way out of bed and down the stairs, trying not to disturb her sleepless mother.

"Mrs Weasley?" she asked, taken aback as the red-headed witch enveloped her in such a bone-crushing hug that Hermione could feel the air being squashed out of her.

"My _dear_ ," Molly breathed, finally releasing her so that she could look the girl up and down. "I'm so sorry for the lateness of the hour, but I couldn't stay away any longer; I've had an idea."

Hermione ushered her unexpected guest into the living room, closing the door softly behind her. "Mrs Weasley," she tried again, seating herself warily beside her on the sofa. "What do you mean?"

"Well, dear, Arthur said that you two would probably appreciate space, especially given how recent the whole thing was. I said I'd do my best, but Hermione, dear, I couldn't bear the thought of you both here alone with the ghosts in this house, especially not now," Molly said gently, closing her arm around the girl's shoulders and pulling her closer to her.

Hermione felt her nose tingle sharply as tears began to well up in her eyes again. She was glad Mrs Weasley couldn't see them trickle down her cheeks a moment later, but she got the distinct feeling that she knew they were there. A warm fire of gratitude and affection seemed to spark and glow somewhere deep inside her at the witch's words.

"Anyway," Molly continued. "My idea. How about you and your mother both come and stay with us at The Burrow?"

Hermione slowly pulled away and looked at Mrs Weasley through her watery eyes as though trying to comprehend what she'd said.

"What?"

"Bill, Charlie and Percy aren't living with us at the moment, and Harry is staying in Ron's room so you three and Ginny could all be together. I'm more than happy to listen to both of you and provide some womanly support to you and Jean. Of course," she added with an extra register of apprehension creeping into her voice, "Neither of you have to come if you don't want to. I just want you to know that we're all missing you and hoping you'll want our support. Like I said, if you don't want to go anywhere you just tell me and I'll-" Molly seemed to fumble for the right words. "I'll _bugger right off_ , as Ron would say."

Despite herself, Hermione felt a brief smile creep onto her face for the first time in days. "Thank you so much, Mrs Weasley," she exhaled, hugging her softly. "I'll ask Mum in the morning and see what she wants to do. I really do appreciate you coming over."

Mrs Weasley's eyes softened as she held Hermione close. As they broke apart, she seemed to remember what else she'd come to do.

"Oh, I brought a basket of food too; I thought it would be easier if you didn't have to think about feeding yourselves for now, especially if you stay here. When you run out let me know and I'll bring more goodies with me and top up your supply."

Having handed Hermione the basket, Molly stood up. "Now, I think I'll leave you to sleep. There's some Drowsy Draft in there too, just in case you need it," she indicated the basket with a kind smile.

The two women made their way back out into the hall and Hermione thanked her again. Mrs Weasley stepped back over the threshold and gave her a small wave before disapparating, leaving Hermione to close the door on a dark street and make two cups of strong, sleepy tea.


	2. A Book Set Aside

The next morning dawned bright and clear through the upstairs windows of The Pines. Hermione found her mother reading in the living room, the shaft of late morning light illuminating the pages. She walked around behind her and hugged her neck, pressing their faces together before kissing her cheek. Jean chuckled and placed her book on a side table, reaching up to her daughter and attempting to return the hug; both laughed as her attempts failed dismally.

"How did you sleep?"

"Great, thanks love," Jean said as Hermione came to sit on the floor in front of her chair.

"Good, it's great to see you smile again," she replied.

"That tea you made sent me right off to sleep. What did you say was in it?"

"Just a draught Mrs Weasley gave me yesterday. She came by last night and dropped off a hamper of food."

"Oh," Jean trailed off, her features falling a little.

"She also came to ask after us and… to see if we wanted to go and stay with her family for a little while," Hermione added, hesitating slightly. She saw her mother stiffen ever-so-slightly and seemed to refuse to meet her eyes.

"Mum?"

Jean looked at her daughter with an edge in her eyes that Hermione could swear looked cold. "She wants to take you away?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, reaching for her mother's hand. "Mum, no. She wants you to come too, not to separate us."

Jean answered with a faint snort of indignation. "That would go well," she looked at her daughter, sat cross-legged before her. "I know how much she means to you, love, but—"

"But that's the problem, isn't it?" Hermione cut in quietly. Her mum's gaze seemed to soften at her words, but she left a short pause before she replied, nonetheless.

"Yes. I _am_ grateful for how she's looked after you all these years, but… Hermione, I wish I could understand your world. I wish I could be a mother to you in _every_ aspect of your life, not just the boring parts."

"You're always going to be my mum, boring parts or not," Hermione responded with a slight smile. "It's important to me that you know that Mrs Weasley never has been, never will be and has never wanted to be a replacement for you—"

"But love, she understands you," Jean pointed out. "She's the centre of all of your friends and she's a fountain for your magical knowledge. She knows things I never can, and that's always going to hurt, no matter what you do. However well-intentioned she may be, I can't bring myself to live in her house with her magical family. I'm sorry, love. I can't bring myself to go, especially not when I'd have to leave my home."

Hermione looked to the floor, where she realised that she was picking at the carpet to fill a billowing silence. She also realised that she had nothing to say: her mother had valid concerns.

"It's my fault," she started. "And I'm so sorry. I can never apologise enough for what I did to you during the war, and I feel like I never made time for you. I never explained everything that was going on in my other life—"

"It was never your fault, love," Jean held Hermione's head between her hands and gazed fondly at her through welling eyes. "It was never your fault that you were so special, so talented, so busy," she said softly, bringing watery smiles to their faces. "The only problem is me; Molly is lovely and has looked after you so well, like I said. It's because of me that I can't go, not her. Definitely not you. Never think it's your fault, Hermione. I love you _so_ _much_ , and now you're all I have."

Her voice trembled away at this, and the tears began to fall thick and fast. Hermione reached for the box of tissues on the side table and gave her one, moving around to sit on the arm of her chair. She was hurting too, but Molly might have been right: she couldn't stay here. Not like this.

"Mum, I-" she hesitated, unsure how to continue. "I don't want to leave you here alone, but-"

"But you want to go," Jean finished, quietly. There was a pause.

"I just… don't want to be in this house right now. I love you, and I love Dad—loved him… so much, and being here is—" she struggled to find the word. "It's tearing me up inside."

The Jean sat in the chair was a smaller shadow of her former self, but her face wasn't angry. "I understand, love," she said, her quiet voice barely audible. "If you need to go, go. Do what will make it easier for you, you don't have to look after me. You've lost your father," her voice tremored again and burst in her next few words. "I know you've lost your father. Do what you need to do, love."

The tears became too much now—quelling her speech—and Hermione hugged her again. "I'll come and see you every day. I just— I want to sleep again, and if moving is going to help with that, then I should at least try it."

"Of course you should, love. Thank Molly for me when you go," Jean said, patting her daughter's arm now.

"I will, and I'll bring food and some more Drowsy Draught too," Hermione promised, kissing the top of her mum's head.

* * *

Hermione's screech owl, Archimedes, soared through the afternoon sky and landed on Molly Weasley's kitchen windowsill, tapping on the glass. The red-haired witch quickly let him in and summoned some owl treats while he settled himself on the kitchen table. As Archimedes gobbled, she untied the letter from his leg and began to read.

_Mrs Weasley,_

_Thank you so much for your visit last night and your offer. If I may, I'd love to come and stay. Mum would prefer to stay at home, so I'll come and go from our house to yours, taking food and Drowsy Draught every few days or so (if that's alright with you.) Speaking of which, thank you for that; sleep came so much easier to both of us last night thanks to you. Can I come over around ten tonight? I'd like to stay with Mum until she heads up to her room before I leave._

_Hermione_

Molly smiled at the letter and summoned some parchment, jotting a quick affirmative reply before sending Archimedes off again, this time with the note clamped in his beak.


	3. A Flicker Felt

In the end, it wasn’t until eleven that Hermione arrived. Upon her appearance at the perimeter of the Burrow’s wards, the front door was thrown open and a streak of long red hair bolted towards her.

“You’re _here!_ You’re here, _you’re here!”_

“Ginny, don’t be such a prat,” came Ron’s voice from the house as Hermione was hit by a person-sized mass.

“Hi, Ginny,” she wheezed as her friend hugged her violently.

“I’m not a prat, I just care about my friend— _Ronald_ ,” Ginny responded loudly, sticking her tongue out at her brother before turning back to her companion. “How are you doing? What can I do? Am I being a prat? I’m not being a prat, I love you!”

Hermione smiled, taking the younger girl in. “You’re not a prat, I really do appreciate it. And I’m doing alright, I suppose. I mostly just need time; I need to figure out which way is up again and work it out from there.”

Ginny slid her arm around Hermione’s shoulders and smiled a gentle, sincere smile. “Well then, let’s get you inside. Mum has the kettle on but you’re more than welcome to go straight up to bed and never see anyone again if you don’t want to. Sorry if I was a bit overzealous, I’m not really sure what to do in this situation.”

“Thanks, Ginny. I would quite like to go to sleep if I’m honest; leaving home was a little more emotional than I expected.”

Her friend stopped her level with the broom shed, hands on her shoulders.

“You can go back if you want, we only want to help you.”

“No, no. It was the right thing to do, coming here. I just need an adjustment period before I have too many people around me all at once.”

Ginny nodded and they continued into the house, where Ron and Harry were waiting with open arms.

* * *

_Tap tap tap._

_Tap tap tap._

Hermione stirred, her eyes staying decidedly shut.

 _Tap tap tap_.

_“Fred, what the hell are you doing?”_

_“I’m bringing her tea, Ginny. What does it look like?”_

_“It looks like you’re about to wake her up, knucklebrain.”_

_“Oh.”_

Hermione took the resulting pause to open her eyes and throw the covers back. She cast a silencing spell on the floorboards and stood up, feeling the wood under her toes. It was comforting, in a strange sort of way.

_“What should I do?”_

_“Well, you could stand out here_ stalking _her for a while—”_

“Or you could come in, Fred,” Hermione cut in softly.

Both Fred and Ginny jumped so violently that Hermione had to stifle a giggle, casting a hovering charm on the teacup before Fred dropped it in his surprise.

“Merlin, Hermione. When did you open that door?”

“With my many years of staying in this room, I’ve become something of a master at quiet exits while Ginny slept,” Hermione grinned. She felt lighter than she had done in what felt like a long time and, as she came fully out of the room to hug Fred, something forgotten stirred deep down. “How are you?”

“I’m doing alright actually,” Fred answered as he let her go. “The shop’s doing wonders at the moment and we’re preparing our school run of products— ouch!”

Ginny had kicked him in the leg.

“Oh really? Do you have any new ideas?” Hermione asked, ignoring her friend’s careful censorship with a roll of the eyes.

“Loads!” he replied, cradling his shin up to his chest. Hermione couldn’t help but think that he looked something like a ginger flamingo. “If you’re available—and willing, of course—then I’d really appreciate you coming to the shop and looking over some of our works in progress actually, you’d be a massive help—stop it!”

Ginny had kicked him in the other leg.

“Why don’t you come inside where Ginny can’t hurt you,” Hermione laughed, stepping aside to let him pass. “And Ginny, I love you and I appreciate what you’re trying to do but it’s honestly fine. Fred knows how to make me laugh, and I think that’s exactly what I need right now.”

Ginny studied her for a few moments and then sighed in acceptance. “Fine. But if he gives you any trouble then send him my way.”

“I will. Thanks, Gin.”

Hermione closed the door on her way back inside and smiled at Fred, who had taken up a languorous position on his sister’s bed and was lazily using his wand to make the teacup follow her around. She let out a small laugh and took it, sipping it hesitantly.

“Don’t worry love, it’s the perfect temperature.”

“It really is! How did you manage that? Or was it chance?” she asked, surprised.

“It’s a little charm we’re working on for our ‘Birthdays’ collection—you know, a witch or wizard gets a nice hamper of their favourite Wheeze’s products—and in it is a pack of tea, and imbibed in the tea: our ever-warm charm! It’s the little things.”

“Wow, that’s cool! The wizarding world hasn’t come up with it before?”

“Well, we have the standard warming charm, but that has to be renewed after a few hours and it doesn’t preserve the quality of the food or drink under it. Our new charm does! The details are known to a very select few, of course, but Mum’s had the benefit of it already. She was our main tester at her Sunday lunches; this way she could prepare it all the night before if she wanted and have a nice long bath in the morning before all of the fuss started!”

“That’s so useful—combining a stasis charm with a warming charm is genius!”

“Thank you, love,” Fred replied softly, observing the thought-soaked witch on the opposite bed.

Something in his tone made her look up suddenly. There seemed to be a gentle, swirling something in his eyes and she felt slightly weak as she realised that she’d seen that look before.

“Fred—” she started, unsure of how to finish her thought.

“No, I know. We’re not going there,” he closed it for her, quietly.

“Especially now,” she added as he rose from the bed and nodded, looking deep into her eyes for just a moment. He crossed the room in a couple of strides and was halfway out the door before Hermione stopped him.

“Fred—”

He turned, an inkling of hope etched across his face.

“I’m sorry.”


	4. A Relic Rediscovered

The rest of that day passed without much incident, although Hermione suspected Fred was giving her a wide berth. The evening sun was rippling down at her through the leaves of the Burrow’s old oak tree as she lounged carelessly below them. After a clever little transfiguration spell which turned a leaf into a leaf-embroidered blanket, Ginny and Hermione had installed themselves under the tree after lunch and had thoroughly enjoyed an afternoon of lazing about before dinner.

“So, are you going to tell me or do I have to whack out my legilimency skills?” Ginny asked, rolling onto her front to get a better look at her friend.

“Firstly, you’re a horrible legilimens. Secondly, what?”

“You and Fred this morning,” she pressed, prodding Hermione gently in the shoulder.

“What about it? He brought me tea,” Hermione answered, shielding her eyes.

Ginny hummed in thought. “What happened to you guys?”

“What do you mean?”

“You two were very buddy-buddy last summer.”

“We’re friends,” Hermione responded, hoping the light would hide the darkening redness in her cheeks. “That’s what friends do.”

“Right.”

Ginny eyed her friend suspiciously but didn’t press any further. With the war over and Hermione’s emotional state to tend to, there would be plenty of time for that later. “You guys are still good though, right?”

“Yeah, we’re _friends_ , Gin,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes and sitting up.

“Excellent,” Ginny smiled, nodding to something behind Hermione.

She twisted around to see, shielding her eyes from the brightness of the sun with her hand. Emerging from the house were two identical Weasleys, albeit one sans an ear. Ginny studied her friend as they approached, trying to gauge any reactions she might have. Hermione, fully aware of this, kept her smile friendly and tried not to let any feelings show, positive or otherwise. Nevertheless she thought, Fred must have got over the morning’s conversation if he _had_ been avoiding her.

“Good even, my dear, sweet sister—,” began George.

“—and her dazzling, delightful companion,” Fred finished as they both topped their approach off with a bow.

“Hello Fred, George,” Hermione chuckled as Ginny rolled her eyes and stretched out her legs.

“Hermione, if we may—we were wondering about the interest you showed this morning in helping us with some products,” George began, fluttering his eyelashes at her with all the grace of a cabaret star.

The witch considered them for a moment before breaking into a smile. “Have a seat.”

The twins flashed her identical grins and folded their legs underneath them on the grass in front of the blanket.

* * *

From the Burrow’s kitchen window, Mrs Weasley chuckled at her sons’ antics. “They’re like two overgrown page boys at their queen’s feet.”

Arthur chortled and came to watch from behind his wife, looping his arms around her. Molly smiled and kissed his cheek tenderly before returning her gaze to her chattering brood.

“Do you think it’ll work?” she asked into the stillness of the early summer air.

“Fred’s quest?”

Molly hummed.

“You know,” her husband replied quietly with a smile, “I think it just might.”

The couple enjoyed the moment and the closeness for a minute or so before there came a faint crackling of firewood and a distant voice.

“Molly? Arthur? Are you home?”

“We’re home,” Molly called, bustling into the living room to see who it was. “Minerva? Are you alright?”

Professor McGonagall’s head looked back at her from the fireplace with a mixed look of discomfort and concern.

“It’s variable, Molly. Can I come through?”

“Of course,” her friend responded, moving back at once to give her space.

Moments later, Minerva McGonagall was stood on the cosy living room carpet and Arthur had disappeared to make tea at his wife’s instruction.

“How are you?” Molly asked as the two embraced.

“ _I’m_ fine. Potential time and reality, not so much.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Molly inquired, taken somewhat aback.

Minerva pulled a face of harrowed confusion at her friend and didn’t answer.

“Is Miss Granger here?”

“In the garden with Fred, George and Ginny. Would you like to join her or have her join us?”

“I think here would be good; this is something of confusing, sensitive matter. Thanks, Arthur,” she said, taking the cup he offered her as his wife went to find their houseguest with a nod.

“How’s she been?” asked the professor gently, while seating herself on the Weasleys’ old leather sofa. Arthur took his time perching on the arm of a chair before he answered.

“Hermione? Well,” he sighed. “About as good as you can imagine. None of this is easy, obviously.”

Minerva nodded and took a sip as Molly returned, Hermione in her wake.

“Professor!” she exclaimed, a large grin spreading over her face. “What a surprise!”

Her old teacher smiled fondly and indicated for her to take the comfy-looking armchair opposite. “Hello again, Hermione; please, call me Minerva now—you’re no longer at school so I believe we can dispense with the formality. It’s good to see you again, and looking so well. My condolences,” she added, kindly.

Hermione smiled hesitantly before moving on quickly, mostly so that she didn’t start crying.

“You wanted to see me specifically, Professor—sorry, Minerva?”

“I did,” she responded briskly, setting down her cup. “I assume,” she started, reaching into her robes, “That you will recognise this.”

The professor withdrew her hand from her inner pocket and placed something carefully on the coffee table between them. The object glittered feebly from where it sat, mangled and scratched. Even so, it made Hermione gasp. Mrs Weasley started, as though to check if she was alright, but Arthur took her hand to stop her. This seemed to be for them, and only them, to discuss.

It was Hermione that broke the silence. “That’s a time turner.”

Her voice had changed; it was awed and a little tremulous. Whatever Professor McGonagall had come to say, it couldn’t bode well.

“Correct. More accurately, it _was_ a time turner. It’s completely useless now, of course,” her teacher confirmed. “I’d assume, given your reaction, that you did not know that any of these particular artifacts remained functional after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.”

Hermione shook her head. “I saw them fall into their time loop. The Unspeakables who cleared up the scene said that they could never be used again.”

“And they were right,” Minerva nodded. “However, there must have been one unaccounted for in private hands: it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that given the size of the country and the number of time turners that had been available, at least one slipped through the net.”

“Like this one?”

“Indeed,” the professor agreed, a grave note edging into her voice.

“So why is it here? How did you get it?” Hermione asked, confused.

“Well,” Minerva sighed, not entirely sure of herself. “You were the last person known to have used one, so I thought you were as good a place to start as any. You were one of the few who could have used it, you see,” she elaborated, trying to get it all to make sense. “It was found at the Battle of Hogwarts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone sticking with this story, thank you! I really appreciate people taking the time out of their day to read my stories, so if you're enjoying this one please do leave a review or check out one of my other fics! My roommate gave me the idea for the rest of this storyline and I hope I do it justice, although I may have to update the story description... I promise it'll work out!
> 
> Stay tuned and stay safe!  
> Amelia x


	5. A Workroom Acquired

“The Battle of Hogwarts?”

It was Molly who had gasped this time, and Arthur rushed to stand and place an arm firmly around her shoulders. Minerva looked up kindly, fully aware that Molly must be going through quite a cycle of emotions. The recovery from that day hadn’t been easy, especially for Fred. Still, he’d pulled through; they all had.

“Yes,” she answered tenderly.

“Where?” Hermione managed to force out. Looking back at her, the old professor saw that she’d gone completely white.

“Are you alright, Hermione?”

The girl nodded determinedly. “Yes, thank you, Professor. Where was it found?”

Minerva took a breath. “In the seventh floor corridor, by the staircase.”

Absolute silence fell over the room.

“Are you trying to say that someone travelled back to save someone? Something like that?”

Minerva nodded at Arthur, who had broken the stillness quite suddenly.

“That’s one theory. We assume that whatever was changed _was_ changed, and we are living in the altered timeline; there might be a way to work out what happened but because we’re presumably _in_ the new timeline we can’t even know what kind of thing it would have been. There’s another theory that something or someone to do with Voldemort was on the seventh floor at some point during the battle; the possibilities really are endless.”

“There isn’t a spell that can tell when it last went to? Like a time version of _prior incantato_?” Hermione asked. The colour seemed to be filtering back into her cheeks now with something to focus on, and the professor smiled to see her back and puzzling as she had at Hogwarts.

Nonetheless, she shook her head slowly. “Not that we can tell. We’ve always tended to have known uses for the ones loaned out, or the witches or wizards who used the turners were of such standing that they were never questioned. There just hasn’t been a need. Either way, whatever was done was done. While it’s unsettling not knowing what could have been different, there’s not a lot we can do now—it’s been a year.

“Well, presumably before it was destroyed they achieved their goal, right?” Hermione asked hopefully.

“Everything now can only really be conjecture without further proof, but at a guess? I’d say yes, they probably did.”

“Professor, may I—may I borrow this? I want to see what happened, if I can.”

Minerva studied the girl intently for a few moments before she answered.

“I should say so, if you think you can get to the bottom of all this,” she replied slowly, watching a smile paint itself across Hermione’s face at her words.

“Oh! Thank you, Minerva! I won’t let you down!”

The professor chuckled and handed the time turner over carefully.

“I’m sure you won’t.”

“I’m going to run some preliminary tests, but I’ll come to Hogwarts as soon as I know anything,” Hermione promised, almost halfway out the door already.

“I look forward to it,” Minerva agreed, inclining her head and smiling at her eagerness.

There was a quiet until Hermione was in the garden and far away—already planning her tests—upon which Molly turned to her friend.

“That _is_ a real time turner?”

“It is.”

“Then why aren’t the Unspeakables or some other _Ministry_ division looking into this?”

“They dismissed it and sent it back. As I said, what is done is done. Knowing Hermione is taking on the challenge it presents is a great comfort to me, but whatever it was can’t be changed.”

“So you’ve sent her on a fool’s errand?”

“No, no. I really am concerned, but not especially for what the time turner has done. I’m more concerned for what it has yet to do.”

“What do you mean? That old thing is broken and twisted, there’ll be no use from it now.”

“No, I know. It’s more what she’ll find. Whatever she uncovers could have been our lives now, for better or for worse. It needs uncovering, which is why I’ve given it to the most capable witch I know, but still; I can’t promise the answers it gives us will be the ones we’ll want.”

“At least in choosing her you’ve given her something to do, something to keep her mind off.”

“I thought so too. I just hope that whatever she finds is helpful, and not a hindrance to her recovery.”

“If there’s any risk of that then I’m not a fan of this little project, Minerva.”

“I know, but she’s now our best hope of any answers at all. And,” Minerva added, one foot in the fireplace, “Try taking it away from her now!”

Molly made an indignant kind of sound as the professor vanished in a puff of green fire and smoke.

* * *

On being released from the shade of the house, Hermione bounded straight for the twins.

“Hello again, lovely!” they chorused.

“Hi, boys. I have a favour to ask. A big favour.”

Fred and George looked at each other. Hermione had a manic air to her and a massive smile on her face which, over the years, they’d come to associate with things like homework or creating timetables. Curious.

“Well then. Fire away, love,” George declared, swinging his legs around to face her properly while his lazier twin just laid down to view her upside-down.

“I’ve been given something of a project by Professor McGonagall and I might need to use your workroom for some tests, would that be alright? I’ll still help you with your products and your business but I really want to get somewhere with this one.”

“Of course, love. Any help we can offer is yours, too. Don’t you think, Forge?”

“I do, Gred,” George nodded seriously. “So, what’s the project?”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll tell you later. I’m going to go upstairs for a while and try some things out, but would it be alright if I came by your flat for dinner? I’ll bring it!”

“How could we possibly say no to an evening of scintillating company and free food?” exclaimed Fred, sitting up properly now.

“Excellent,” she grinned. “I’ll see you tonight!”

“You are so telling Mum she’s not in for dinner,” George muttered under his breath as they watched her almost skip away.

“Why me?” Fred demanded with a whine.

“You’re the one who’s going to get the girl!” George replied, cuffing his brother over the head.

“Yeah, right,” Fred scoffed. “I think that’s sailed, mate.”

“Oh, brother. Never say never,” George responded, waggling his eyebrows.

Fred scowled at him and flopped back onto the grass.


	6. A Moment Endured

That evening, Hermione arrived promptly at eight o’clock bearing three boxes of fish and chips. She knocked hesitantly on the closed shop door, which swung open without assistance.

“Sorry, love! We’re just back here, lost track of time!”

“No worries! Do you need a hand?” she called back, making her way through the shop to the workroom.

“Nah,” Fred assured her, appearing suddenly. His hair was a flaming mess, his face sooty and his hands—purple?

“Uh, Fred?” she indicated his hands, confused.

“Ah!” he exclaimed in delight. “It works, Georgie!”

Hermione chuckled as he ran back towards his brother, his purple hands aloft for him to see. There were a few moments of scuffling and muffled conversation before George emerged, looking just as ruffled, slightly more embarrassed but significantly less purple.

“Sorry about that; he gets very excited.”

“It’s honestly absolutely fine. He has a lot of love for his work, and so do you,” she smiled.

George returned it. “Yeah. Oh, hey, let me take those for you. Thanks for this, it smells amazing and we’re even hungrier than usual, even after Mum’s lunch.”

“My pleasure, anytime! Especially if you’re going to help me on my quest.”

They’d been winding their way through to the back of the shop as they talked, and now George opened a back door and did a little bow for her, grinning. As she passed him she ruffled his hair in laughing thanks, and he followed her up to the twins’ flat.

“Speaking of your quest, _when_ are you going to tell us what it is? We’ve been trying to guess all afternoon.”

“Not until Fred gets in here! It would just be rude otherwise,” she chuckled.

“In that case,” George said as they reached the cosy living room. “I will go and tame my hair. The potion vapours, Hermione, they rest for no man.”

“You’re telling me,” she agreed, holding up her own tempestuous locks. “Go, I’ll find us some plates.”

He smiled gratefully and vanished into another room off the living room. A few moments later, Fred arrived through from the shop, looking slightly sheepish.

“Sorry about that, love. It was the first time it had worked and—”

“Don’t worry about it, Fred. I know how excited you can get,” she reassured him with a grin before she felt an awkward breeze brush over their conversation.

“I know you do,” he added softly.

It was all Hermione could do not to look into his eyes.

“Why won’t you—” he started.

“Plates! I said I’d get plates,” Hermione burst suddenly. Before she could move, however, three plates accompanied by their respective cutlery and drinking glasses zoomed over from the kitchen area.

“Damn the plates, Hermione. Why won’t you even consider going back to how it was?”

She watched them settle gently onto the coffee table, perfectly arranged.

“I think we proved _then_ that I couldn’t carry a fling, let alone a relationship,” she answered, looking into his eyes properly for the first time since that morning. Their conversation had made their interactions stilted, awkward; it wasn’t how either of them wanted it, but they couldn’t avoid it.

“No, we didn’t. We just proved that you didn’t want to try,” Fred responded coldly.

His tone wounded her a little, and as she looked into his pained eyes she began to wonder whether this agreement would really be beneficial to either of them. After all, Hogwarts’ potions dungeons could serve her just as well, and—her thoughts were interrupted by George loudly opening his door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything!” he declared loudly, bludgeoning his way through the tension to sit on the sofa. “Oh this looks ace, Hermione! Thank you!”

“Yeah, thank you,” Fred mirrored almost automatically, but significantly less cheerily as he maintained their eye contact.

“Oh! You’re so welcome, George!” she breezed, breaking the building pressure of the stare and dropping herself onto the cushions next to him. “I’m assuming you want to know what I have to say for myself?”

“Yes,” he cackled. “What the bloody hell do you want from us?”

She grinned and reached into her front pocket with an air of mystery. “Are you ready?”

Even Fred—despite himself—had sat in an armchair with a vaguely excited look on his face, trying his best to suppress it. Looking from one to the other, Hermione slowly took out the time turner and—reminding herself deliciously of Professor McGonagall—placed it carefully on the table between their plates.

As had been the case when she’d seen it for the first time, a silence broke out over the room and both twins’ eyes went meteoric.

“Is that what I think it is?” Fred asked, lowering his fork back to the plate.

Hermione nodded eagerly and levitated it into the air between them, spinning slowly.

“And it’s real?” George added.

She nodded again and began to fill them in on the afternoon’s events. As she talked, the time turner rotated slowly, shining mutely in the light of the pale post-sun sky that was streaming in through the skylight.

“Wow,” George breathed once she’d finished. “So you’re trying to figure out what it was used for?”

“Yeah, although everyone says there’s no way to find it, and it looks as though they’re very right.”

“Of course you checked, though,” Fred chuckled, directly avoiding her gaze.

“That’s our Hermione,” agreed George, ignoring the two internally screaming individuals either side of him. “So,” he began. “You need a couple of dashing wizards to help you—if there’s no current way to solve it, we’ll have to invent something, right?”

“Right!” Hermione concurred. “And if those wizards happen to be the best inventors I know, so much the better for me!”

George laughed. “Flattery, as I’m sure you’ve noticed being friends with Ron, will get you everywhere. So, what’s the plan?”


End file.
